Flames
by LeaO'Neill
Summary: Vic searches for a cop he thought was dead.
1. Default Chapter

Vic Mackey drove on the crowded 405 freeway early on a Tuesday morning. He was headed to work, and had no idea how a simple trip down the freeway would change the course of his life.  
Vic usually paid no mind to the heavy traffic, the honking frustrated drivers, the Nascar wanna-be's in business suits, and the car pool moms with a van full of screaming kids. But this morning, his eyes were drawn to a car. It was a black T-top, a Pontiac Trans Am popular in the eighties. It had come up in the lane next to him and Vic glanced over.  
When he did, he had to do a double take. He recognized the driver. But it was impossible! Yet, the dark eyes, the cowboy hat.it rang too familiar in Vic's mind.  
The driver of the T-top glanced over. The second their eyes met, Vic knew he was not mistaken.  
He knew the face of Joey Rossi anywhere. But Vic's mind defied what his eyes saw. Joey Rossi was dead. He'd been dead for three years.  
But yet, the two drivers stared at each other while their metal machines careened down the five at seventy five miles an hour.  
The T top driver, who Vic was now positive was Joey Rossi, saw a break in the traffic, shook his head, and punched the gas. The sports car shot ahead, leaving Vic's Durango stuck behind a van. Vic quickly swerved into the next lane in an attempt to catch up with the T-top, but with the heavy traffic and the fact that the fast car way out gunned the SUV, Vic lost the car almost immediately. He slammed the palm of his hand on the steering wheel. "Dammit!" he said to himself.  
  
Vic went straight to the clubhouse on reaching the Farmington station house known as The Barn. Shane was already there. "Morning," Vendrell greeted. "Shane something weird just happened."  
"You mean weird 'funny' or weird 'holy shit'?"  
"Definitely holy shit weird. I just saw Cowboy on the freeway."  
"Cowboy? Joey Rossi? Yeah, that'd qualify as holy shit weird; since he's been dead for three years"  
"Look, I know it sounds crazy, but it was him!" Vic insisted.  
Shane looked at Vic, who he could tell was not joking around. He clearly saw that Vic believed it was Joey Rossi.  
Rossi had been a cop who worked with Vic and Shane in the Special Crimes Unit, for the short period the specialized unit had lived in the LAPD. They had almost been as well organized and instructed at the Strike team. Rossi, originally from Chicago, had come out West to be a cowboy, hence the nickname, once he took to wearing a Stetson.  
Shane now could only shrug. "Well, okay, say for some reason that the coroner was wrong, that Cowboy didn't burn up in that fire, that the charred remains they identified with dental records weren't his," he said, a hint of sarcasm rolling off his tongue. "Who was it? And what's more, what's Rossi been up to the past three years?"  
"Okay, knock off the lip," Vic warned. "I don't wanna believe it any more than you do, but I'm tellin' you.Look, the guy I saw was either Joe Rossi or his friggin' identical twin. And I don't remember him havin' one of those. Are you gonna help me find out or what?"  
It was obvious Vic wasn't letting this go. Since they had no pressing cases, Shane finally nodded. "Yeah, I guess."  
"Lets go talk to Dana."  
Dana Price had been Rossi's partner in he Major Crime unit. She was now a CSI, using her skills with evidence collection for the specialized investigative crime scene unit.  
Shane could only follow Vic's lead. He refused to believe that his old drinking buddy, a fellow cop, and friend was alive.  
  
Jenna Wade, a civilian auditor for the LAPD's Internal Affairs Department, stopped in at Captain David Aceveda's campaign office. She had an agenda on her mind.  
After sitting in on Detective Shane Vendrell's shooting panel, Jenna had done enough investigating to decide that he, along with the other members of the Strike Team were operating outside the law. She was determined to prove that to anyone who would listen. Her main supporter was their own captain, David Aceveda. He seemed almost as determined as she to put them in their place and get them off the street.  
Jenna had come across documentation in her miles of bureaucratic red tape that led her to believe the Strike Team leader, Vic Mackey, might have known that Terry Crawley was secretly investigating them. Terry, who'd coincidentally been killed not long after he and Aceveda had begun plotting against Mackey, had made a tape recording of a conversation between himself and Mackey. Apparently no one knew about it. Jenna had come across it in some of Terry's personal belongings, which she'd had his mother's permission to go through on the pretense she was an old girlfriend who just wanted to find a card she'd given him for sentimental value. Jenna Wade had never met Terry. But nine years as an investigative reporter had left Jenna with the ambiance to be able to pull off the fairy tale.  
And there was the tape. After Jenna listened to it, she knew she had to take it to David. This might mean something.  
  
Vic and Shane found Dana Price hunched over a microscope in a large crime lab in the Parker Center. She was a shapely red head, twice divorced, with 40 closing in on her. Her career was her life. She'd been a good street cop, a great investigator, and now was one of LA's foremost CSI's.  
"Hey Dana," Vic greeted, ripping her out of her concentration. She looked up and removed her reading glasses.  
"Well hey, Mackey and Vendrell, to what do I owe this honor?" she asked with a smile.  
"Geeze, can't a guy come say hi to an old friend?" Mackey said with his charming smile.  
"Yeah. But you haven't in almost four years. What's up guys?"  
"Vic has this 'idea'-" Shane started.  
Vic elbowed him. "I saw something today. Someone. Look, I know you an' Joey were close.."  
"Joey Rossi?" Dana asked then, getting a far off look in her eyes. "We were partners. We were friends."  
"I heard more," Shane interceded, getting an icy look from Dana and a 'shut up' look from Vic. She finally nodded. "It was a long time ago, but yeah, there was more."  
"Dana, look, I know this is gonna sound strange, but.did you ever think that maybe Joey didn't die in that car? That maybe, for some reason, he staged it?"  
If the subject hadn't been so painful Dana might have laughed. "Vic, how can you say that?"  
  
"I saw him Dana. I saw him on the freeway. This morning. Driving a black T top." "You saw him? What, his ghost? Joey's dead, Vic." "If you saw someone who was his identical, wouldn't you want to know why, how? This guy, it was more than someone who looked like him. He looked at me. He knew me. It was like he was saying 'forget it Vic. Don't press this'. And then he took off. He ran. Why would some guy who didn't know me run like that?" "Well, you're kind of scary in the morning," Shane intoned, receiving another dirty look.  
"Look Vic, they identified Joey with dental records. That's kind of hard to fake unless you pull out you own teeth. I saw the pictures. I saw the car. Cowboy's dead."  
"Okay, can you at least humor me for a minute? Can you pull the file?"  
Dana sighed. She saw that Vic was not going to give this up. "Yeah, I can pull it. So you can see the same shit I saw. "  
  
Vic, Shane and Dana Price went over the hard file she pulled from the closed case files.  
"The CSI's on the case pulled every last bit of evidence from that car. It was Joey's car, the bits of clothing they were able to recover matched what Joey was last seen wearing, and dental records identified the body. Specifically, two back molars that had been crowned."  
Vic looked at the horrific pictures. It was a horrible wreck with a devastating outcome. But was it Joey Rossi? Vic still wasn't convinced.  
  
Vic's next stop on his agenda was Rossi's old CO, Lieutenant Jesse Vasquez. He'd been the overseeing officer of the Major Crimes unit and briefly, Vic's boss, as well as Rossi's. Vic and Shane found Vasquez, who was now working Robbery/ Homicide, down in Rampart.  
The Lt gave them a considerably more friendly welcome.  
"Well they'll just let anyone in the doors these days," the Hispanic said, laughing, while getting up to shake hands with Shane and give Vic a bear hug. "What the hell are you two lowlifes doin' in my precinct?"  
"Just cam by to say hi," Vic said, unconvincingly.  
"Bullshit," Vasquez said, showing them to his office. "Glad you did, but still, bullshit." They sat down around his desk.  
"Vic's got a theory he wants to run by you," Shane told his former boss.  
"I saw Joey Rossi. Today. Alive." It was getting easier every time he told the story. Vic went on to describe what happened on the freeway.  
Jesse listened, and then began to shake his head. "Vic I know you're expecting me to say you're crazy, but I had something weird happen a few weeks ago. I was down at payroll, doing some research on some of my guys' checks and I accidentally accessed a separate payroll account file." Jesse ran a hand through his thick black hair. "Vic, Joey Rossi, along with Denny Fontaine and Mark Wilson have had payroll checks cut to them every payday for the past two years. I'm not talking about death benefits being paid to their relatives either. I'm talking regular payroll checks."  
Vic was familiar with the other two names, also cops who'd been part of the major crimes unit. They'd also been 'killed' in accidents over the past 2 years; Fontaine in a house fire and Wilson fell off a yacht during a party. His body was never recovered.  
Shane, who'd been reluctant to accept Vic's theory thus far, was beginning to become more suspicious. Vic was now doubly convinced there was something funny going on.  
"I'm going with this Jesse," Vic said. He had been a friend to Rossi. This was not something he'd let lay.  
The Hispanic detective had to nod. "You know I can't help in the outs, but I'll do any digging you need."  
"Can you dig me up who's been cashing or depositing those checks? At least Cowboy's?" Vic asked.  
Vasquez slowly nodded. "For you Vic, I'll do what I can."  
  
They shook hands and Vic and Shane left the division headquarters.  
"So say these three are out there somewhere, how the hell do we look for them? They've been doin' pretty good playing dead for three years," Shane pointed out, back in the truck.  
"What do those guys, Rossi, Fontaine, and Wilson all have in common, besides they were in the MC Unit with us at the same time?"  
  
Shane shrugged.  
"They were all Marines. Wilson was a sniper. They were all adrenaline junkies. And they all loved playing it to the bone. They'd all take it to the edge, probably more than we do. But their biggest connection, they loved their junk."  
Shane saw what Vic was saying. "You think they turned fox?"  
He used slang to indicate a cop turned criminal, usually one who'd been in the drug world long enough to make a lot of useful contacts. The proverbial fox in the henhouse. "Maybe. Or maybe they're runnin' for someone. Deep cover. It's got to be one or the other."  
"Well if they're under, who's pushing them? And if they're not, how the hell do we find them?"  
"The same way we find any other street scum. We shake the trees and see what falls out."  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
David Aceveda had been unable to find Vic Mackey all day. No one seemed to know what the Strike team was working, least of all their commanding officer. He was doing a slow burn over that when the IAD auditor rapped on his door.  
Jenna Wade had been giving him inside information on Vendrell's shooting board, and seemed willing to help him find dirt on Mackey and his team, although Aceveda wasn't sure why she was helping. Not that he'd turn it down. She walked in the door now, a purposeful look on her face.  
"Jenna, good to see you again," Aceveda said, momentarily forgetting his agitation. She was a beautiful woman and certainly easy on his eyes. Today she wore a red sweater with a low enough neckline to reveal substantial cleavage and a calf length black skirt. Her long dark hair was loose.  
"David," she greeted. She sat down in front of his desk and slid the tape across to him. "I've got something you need to hear."  
Aceveda frowned. "What's this?" he asked, picking up the unlabeled cassette. "It's something Terry Crawley recorded before his death."  
His head snapped up. "How did you manage to lay your hands on this?"  
She shrugged. "His mother gave me permission to go through some of his things. That doesn't matter. What's on the tape does."  
  
"..we take what we do very seriously around here," Vic Mackey's voice said over the speakers of the cassette player.  
"I understand that," the voice from beyond the dead of Terry Crowley answered.  
"My guys, we're like family, you know? And when one of our family is in trouble, we help out."  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah. And when one of our family is dirty, well we take care of our own."  
"What's that mean?"  
"It means no good can come from sucking up to Aceveda. It won't get you higher up in the food chain, but it could get you eaten by the tigers."  
"Is that a threat?"  
Vic laughed. "Now why would I threaten one of my guys?" And with that, the tape went silent.  
  
Aceveda had felt tiny hairs stand up on the back of his neck just upon hearing the dead officer's voice. But hearing the menacing tone in Mackey's voice.it gave him a chill. He knew there was more to Terry's death. He'd always suspected as much. He and Jenna traded glances. This was certainly something. If he  
  
could just figure out how to use it. 


	2. Chapter Two

FLAMES   
  
Chapter Two  
  
Later That Night……  
  
Shane had been sleeping deeply when he was suddenly awakened by a noise his brain couldn't identify. He awoke with a start, glancing around the still semi-dark bedroom. He saw nothing. His sense tuned to the dark, waiting for the sound to some again. He glanced at the digital readout of the clock while he listened. 4:56.   
  
It came again. Metal scraping on wood. From the back of the house.   
  
Shane got quickly but quietly out of bed, drawing his weapon from the bedside table. He crept through the room quietly in just his boxer shorts.   
  
Again, the stealthy scraping sound came. It was the kind of sound someone made when they thought they were being sneaky. But Shane's heightened sense of security had picked it up.  
  
He slid along the wall of the hall toward the kitchen and the back door where he was now sure the sound had been coming from.   
  
In the dim illumination from the alley streetlight, through his kitchen window, Shane saw a figure at the back door. He was using a metal object, probably a crowbar, to pry at Shane's back door latch. Shane could see the door was holding out, but just barely. Another pry and the lock would spring.   
  
Shane waited, his gun cocked and held chest level; he was ready to leap into the kitchen and surprise the would-be burglar as soon as he popped the lock and opened the door.  
  
The sound of the wood giving way was louder than the intruder would have liked. He waited a few seconds to see if the noise had disturbed anyone. When all remained quiet, including Shane who hid in the shadows, the man pulled open the back door.  
  
Once he had taken a step into the kitchen, Shane launched himself out of the dark.  
  
"Far enough asshole!" he demanded, drawing a bead on the intruder's chest.   
  
The man, clothed in a dark hooded sweatshirt, thought for a moment, seeing the homeowner brandishing a gun in his face. But apparently, he thought escape was worth a try. He brought up the crowbar with force.   
  
Shane was far enough away not to catch the brunt of the iron bar, but it was close enough to tap the gun barrel, sending it from Shane's grasp.  
  
The burglar fled through the open back door.  
  
Shane scooped up the pistol from the tile floor and gave chase out the door.  
  
He ran into his back yard in time to see the other man making a leap over his high wood fence. Shane thought about taking a pot shot at him, but figured he'd wake the neighborhood eliciting a complaint to his prescient again. And he wasn't about to go chasing after the guy barefoot and in his underwear.  
  
He resignedly went back through his ruined back door. He called division headquarters, using the private dispatcher number.  
  
"Hey Nancy," he said when connected to the night dispatcher. "Detective Vendrell. Hey, can you send a unit by my place. I scared off a prowler but not before he jimmied my lock. Yeah, I'm fine. Little pissed. That'd be great. Thanks. Yeah, I still think you're a babe. Sure, drinks would be fine."  
  
Shane hung up, trying to place who Nancy was, seeing as he'd all but made a date with her. The red head?  
  
Shane went back to his bedroom to dress. There'd be no more sleep now.  
  
He debated calling Vic, but figured this could wait until later in the day. It was probably just an attempted burglary, like he'd told dispatch.  
  
Vic Mackey too was in deep early morning sleep. Apparently much deeper than Shane had been. Of course, he'd gotten a work out before crashing last night. Emma had come by his place and ended up staying. They'd had a romp between the sheets for a couple of hours before both falling into a restful sleep. It was nice to have a presence beside him once in a while.   
  
But Vic came to wish Emma had never shown up. At least when he awoke with a start as he felt the gun barrel pressed to his temple.   
  
His adrenaline brought him fully awake enough to realize there were two of them. One held a hand over a terrified Emma's mouth and a gun to her head. The other crouched by Vic's side, the gun to his head. They were both darkly dressed and ski masked.  
  
"Back the fuck off Mackey," the gravely voice beside him warned, pressing the cold steel into Vic's skin.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" Vic demanded, but realizing as soon as the words passed his lips who he was talking to.  
  
"I think you know."  
  
Vic did know. He had heard that voice hundreds of times before. It was the rough baritone of Joey 'Cowboy' Rossi. At least he confirmed what he'd know all along. His former partner, former LAPD cop, was alive.  
  
"Look, I don't know what you're into Cowboy-"  
  
"And you don't care. That it Mackey? For someone who don't care, you and Vendrell are damn pushy. You ain't gonna get nothing from my old lady. She don't know shit. Thinks I'm dead."  
  
"We all did," Vic said, shifting slightly in the bed.   
  
Cowboy kept the gun pushed against his head.  
  
Vic glanced at Emma. Her eyes looked terrified.  
  
"Look, can we cut the cloak and dagger routine?" Vic asked, trying not to let the prick know he was sweating. "She don't know nothin'. Can't we talk, man to man?"  
  
"Nothing to talk about. You need to stay off our backs. What we're doing ain't no concern of yours. Ain't gonna get you no news coverage or bail out that piss hole Farm. You and your wetback Captain need to get your headlines somewhere else."  
  
"Yeah, okay," Vic said, going along with Rossi's tirade. "Fine, consider it done. Just morbid curiosity I guess. Wondered if I was loosing my marbles, is all. See some dead guy on the freeway. Well, now I know."  
  
Cowboy pulled the gun back and nodded at his partner. "You say now. We'll see. This was just a friendly warning from an old friend. You keep pushing, and you'll get yourself knee deep in shit you don't even want to know about."  
  
The other guy pushed Emma roughly back down on the bed at Vic. They two thugs backed out of the room, still keeping their eyes, and weapons, trained on Vic.   
  
"I'll put your piece down on the way out," Cowboy said, holding Vic's gun in his other hand. Must have taken it off the dresser where Vic had left it in the holster.   
  
"Just don't go trying to use it on me."  
  
Vic held a frightened Emma with one arm, while watching the two leave.   
  
"Good to see you too Cowboy," he called sarcastically after them.  
  
  
  
  
  
Vic was already agitated by the early morning wake up call made by Cowboy Rossi when he got to the Barn. He made for his office immediately.  
  
Shane and Ronnie were already there, discussing Shane's break in.  
  
Vic slammed the door as he got in. "Where's Lem?" he demanded, without a 'good morning' to anyone.  
  
"Running late," Ronnie Gardocki informed Mackey.  
  
"We've got to hit the streets," Vic said, and then told Ronnie and Shane about the night's events precipitated on him by Rossi and another of the presumed dead cops.  
  
"Son of a bitch!" Shane said. "I knew I shoulda called. My place got busted into too. About five this morning. I never thought…"  
  
"You see who it was?"  
  
She shook his head. "I ran him off. He didn't want to stick around for small talk."  
  
Vic cussed. He knew the two incidents had to be related. "Cowboy sure wanted to get his point across."  
  
"What exactly is that?" Ronnie asked.  
  
"That we need to stay out of whatever he's into. Which is exactly why we're not going to."  
  
Curtis Lemanski arrived then. "Sorry boss," he said, coming in the door. "Aceveda's looking for you," he said quickly before he took the lecture he thought was coming.  
  
Vic cursed. "It's too early and I'm too busy for Captain Ass Invader. Cover for me," he said, taking his jacket and heading for the back door. "Meet me at Tino's in twenty minutes so we can figure out this Rossi shit."  
  
Almost the minute Vic shut the back door, Aceveda knocked then barged in the front door.  
  
Lem, Shane and Ronnie sat at the round table, appearing to be hard at work on open case files.  
  
"Where's Mackey?" the captain demanded to know.  
  
Shane looked up, as if puzzled by the question.   
  
Lem shrugged.  
  
Ronnie held up his empty hands. "Not in yet," he said.  
  
"His truck is in the parking lot."  
  
"Maybe he's takin' a piss," Shane said idly, shuffling some papers.  
  
Aceveda smelled a cover up. "When you see him, tell him he can't hide from me all day. With any luck, I'll have a warrant for his arrest by this afternoon."  
  
That brought three sets of eyes up as Aceveda stormed out of the office.  
  
"What the hell was that about?" Lem asked.  
  
Shane shook his head. "Who knows? But Vic ain't gonna be happy about it. Ronnie, can you nose around here, see if you can find out what the Campaign Boy is up to?"  
  
Ronnie nodded.   
  
Lem and Shane stood to go. "Call my cell if you hear anything."  
  
  
  
Vic met Lem and Shane at Tino's, a greasy spoon restaurant on Calle Longoria. They ordered coffee and Shane told Vic about Aceveda's boast.   
  
  
  
Vic tried not to sweat Aceveda's threat too much. After all, what could the Captain have come up with? He and his guys had been keeping their noses clean enough.   
  
  
  
"Look, we got to get the Rossi shit cleaned up," Vic told them. "What ever he's into sounds pretty bad. Maybe if we get a line on it, it'll make Aceveda forget how bad he wants me. I think we need to check in with Vasquez, see if he got anything else. I want you two back out there, checking leads. Find those three 'dead' cops."  
  
  
  
"And Aceveda?" Shane asked.  
  
  
  
"Avoid him. If he's looking for me, tell him the truth. I'm working a case that will put Farmington in the headlines and can't be contacted."  
  
  
  
So the rest of the team broke up, Vic heading off to find his former Lieutenant and Shane and Lem back to turning over rocks in the inner city.  
  
Within hours, the 'rocks' the two cops looked under, unearthed small time fence 'Chokie' Roberts. The short, wiry middle aged unscrupulous salesman of stolen goods was working out of a watch repair shop.  
  
  
  
He looked none too happy when Vendrell and Lemanski walked into his shop.  
  
  
  
"Hey Chokie," Lem greeted with a wide smile. "Got any Rolexes this week?"  
  
  
  
"Aw, geeze guys. Why you gotta come down here bustin' my balls? I ain't got shit," the little man said, perched on a stool behind his counter. An issue of 'Playboy' was open on the counter. Various watch parts and accessories were laid out in the glass display case.  
  
  
  
  
  
"We're looking for some guys. Maybe someone might have come in here looking to 'repair a watch'."  
  
  
  
Chokie knew, as well as the two cops did, that anyone they were looking for was into a lot more than a hot watch.  
  
  
  
Shane laid out three pictures on the counter. They were file copies of the personnel IDs of Joey Rossi, Denny Fontaine, and Mark Wilson.  
  
  
  
Chokie studied the photos, then rubbed his stubbly chin. He gauged the two cops. "I mighta seen one or two of 'em," he said vaguely. "Memory's a little fuzzy."  
  
  
  
Shane made a face. How many times had he heard that one. He pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket. It was from the 'advance' money Vic used to loosen tongues on the street. He peeled off a fifty.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, maybe this one," Chokie pointed to Rossi. "But I can't quite remember…"  
  
  
  
Shane peeled off another fifty. He laid them on the counter.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, this guy, and this one," Chokie pointed to Wilson. "They were here. Couple of times."  
  
  
  
"What'd they buy?"  
  
  
  
Chokie shrugged. "Don't recall."  
  
  
  
"This is getting old," Shane peeled off two more bills. Hundreds this time. "That's it. Spill or my patience will run out and I'll just take you downtown for a fire code violation."  
  
Chokie pocketed the money. "Okay, okay. Don't get testy Detective. They came in first about a year ago. Looking to get rid of some guns. Dirty guns I guess. Wanted new ones."  
  
  
  
"You sell 'em?" Lem asked.  
  
  
  
Chokie held up his hands. "I don't buy or sell guns. I just pointed them in the right direction."  
  
  
  
"What else?"  
  
  
  
"They were by about two weeks ago. Again with the gun thing. Seems the first guy I sent them to, well, in the meantime he's taken a serious powder. Like a six foot under powder. They wanted a new contact."  
  
  
  
"And you got them one?" Shane asked.  
  
  
  
Chokie nodded. "I guess they were happy. They never came back."  
  
  
  
"Who's the dealer?"  
  
  
  
Chokie made a face. "You guys are ruining a beautiful partnership you know."  
  
  
  
"The contact," Lem pushed, leaning in a little closer to the little man.  
  
  
  
"Fine, fine. He goes by the name Delgado. Works out of a machine shop on fifteenth. 4825."  
  
  
  
Shane gave Chokie a slight smile. "Always nice doin' business with you Chokie."  
  
  
  
The wiry fellow waved as the two cops left the store. "Thanks for shopping at K Mart."  
  
Vic waited for Jesse Vasquez outside after calling his private office line. For more than a few reasons he didn't want to be seen inside the Parker building again. He didn't know who else might be working with Rossi that might tip him off to Mackey's continued presence.  
  
  
  
Vasquez, today in a tailored navy blue suit, met him in the parking lot.   
  
  
  
"Vic," he greeted.  
  
  
  
"Lt, I got a little unexpected house call last ngiht. So did Shane. It was Rossi."  
  
  
  
"You sure?" Vasquez asked with a frown.  
  
  
  
"Positive. He was three inches from my face. Whatever him and Wilson and Fontaine are into, it's big. He warned us off."  
  
  
  
Vasquez grinned. "Didn't work I see."  
  
  
  
Vic shook his head. "You find anything?"  
  
  
  
"Yeah. A couple of disturbing little tidbits. Like I said, those guys have been receiving paychecks from the department this whole time. The only way that could happen is if someone high up authorized it."  
  
  
  
"High like Gilroy?" Vic suddenly thought.  
  
  
  
"Exactly."  
  
  
  
"But wouldn't the new regime have investigated after Ben got busted?"  
  
  
  
"Not necessarily. Unless someone in payroll voiced a complaint, they just process the checks."  
  
"So Gilroy could have set the whole squad up, but to do what?"  
  
  
  
"My best guess was to look through the evidence manifests. It seems that like clockwork, every three months or so, a shipment of weapons taken as evidence leaves the division, but never makes it to the warehouse. It would take some fancy computer work and someone working inside to make that happen."  
  
  
  
Vic racked his mind through the old team's faces and landed on one: Pete Sinclair. He had been in the service with Rossi. He was well known back then as a computer geek and hacker. But he had not 'died', so Vic had never even thought about him.  
  
  
  
Vasquez nodded. "Sinclair," he confirmed. "He's been the Sergeant at the warehouse for three years."  
  
  
  
Vic nodded. "They'd have to have someone there. But they can't be getting their jollies and making money off of a few hundred stolen evidence guns."  
  
  
  
Vasquez agreed. "There has to be more to it."  
  
  
  
Vic knew there was. And he had to find out what. 


	3. Flames Chapter Three

Flames   
  
Chapter Three  
  
"It's impossible," the Chief told David Aceveda as the Captain stood in the office.  
  
  
  
Aceveda shuffled uncomfortably in front of his boss's desk. He cleared his throat. "Sir, I really think that on the basis of that recording, we should re-open the investigation of Detective Crawley's death."  
  
  
  
The Chief's patience was wearing thin with his Farmington Division Captain. "David, IAD cleared the case. I don't think this one recording, of questionable origin, is going to cause the board to re open an investigation that's been closed this long. There's just not enough evidence."  
  
  
  
"Sir, I've already got at least two of the IAD panel members to agree that the case should be further looked into."  
  
  
  
The Chief folded his hands on his desk. It was not that he disliked Aceveda. Nor was he that awfully fond of Vic Mackey. But he refused to believe that the Strike Team, no matter how questionable their tactics might be, had any involvement in the death of a fellow officer. And he had looked at the statistics. The Strike Team had been making consistent arrests for the past year. Farmington's crime rate had dropped considerably. And he didn't believe that Aceveda had all that much to do with it. He knew his Captain had political ambitions and was usually busier campaigning than he was planning for the future of his division.   
  
  
  
"I am aware that both Jenna Wade and Scott McDonald are interested in the case. Ms Wade is nothing more than a civilian auditor with a misplaced sense of justice. Retired Captain McDonald has had issues with Detective Mackey spanning more than twelve years. So I'm sorry David, but I won't issue an order to re open the case. Not without convincing new evidence."  
  
  
  
Aceveda opened his mouth to argue, but he read on the Chief's face and knew that it would be futile.  
  
  
  
He nodded. "Well, if that's your final decision…"  
  
  
  
The Chief nodded. "It is. Have a good afternoon Captain." And with that, he dismissed Aceveda.  
  
  
  
David did a slow burn, feeling his neck under his collar sweat. He knew he should have expected as much. But he thought for sure with the tape that Jenna had produced…well, that at least the Chief would admit there was a chance that somehow something might have been overlooked.   
  
He was out of ideas for the time being.   
  
*******************************************************************  
  
Shane and Lem found the machine shop Chokie the fence had tipped them to. They parked a good distance away to survey the place and called Vic to meet them.  
  
  
  
While they were watching, a black T-Top Trans Am pulled into the place's parking lot. Two men got out and went inside.  
  
  
  
Lem handed the binoculars over to Shane. He wasn't familiar with the cops who'd been in the squad with Shane and Vic.  
  
  
  
"Well kiss my ass," Shane expounded, as he caught a glimpse of the men. He recognized Mark Wilson and Denny Fontaine. Rossi wasn't with them. "That's two of them all right," he confirmed.  
  
  
  
Vic pulled up behind them a few minutes later. They reconvened inside the Durango.   
  
  
  
Shane brought Vic up to speed starting with Chokie's bought statement and ending with Wilson and Fontaine going into the old building.  
  
  
  
Vic told them what Vasquez had to say and the discovery about the evidence warehouse.  
  
  
  
"So're we goin' in after them or what?" Lem asked, un-holstering his pistol and checking the clip.  
  
  
  
Vic shook his head. "I want Rossi too. And I want to know just what the hell's so hot. It's not just stolen evidence weapons."  
  
  
  
So they waited.  
  
  
  
Shane's cell phone rang after a few minutes. "Vendrell."  
  
  
  
It was Ronnie. He told Shane all he'd been able to find out: that Aceveda had gone to see the Chief and that the civilian IAD Board member Jenna Wade had been nosing around asking questions about the Strike Team. Ronnie also explained that Aceveda had returned from the Chief's office looking none to happy and had gone straight to his office and hadn't come out.  
  
  
  
Shane reported this to Vic.  
  
  
  
Vic nodded. He'd known if Aceveda really had something concrete, the Chief would have backed him. But judging by Aceveda's actions, Vic didn't think the meeting had gone well.  
  
  
  
"Shane, go pick up Ronnie. If we're gonna take down Rossi, we're gonna need everyone. Me and Lem will follow the T top and call you to meet us."  
  
  
  
Shane nodded and got out of the Durango, trotting back to his truck.  
  
Aceveda had called Jenna Wade to report his disappointing outcome. She wanted to meet with him again. At an Italian restaurant this time. Aceveda was getting tired of all these secret rendezvous with her. He was getting nothing he could use and he had a feeling she was just feeding him tidbits in hopes of getting him to bed. Not that the idea was unattractive. But he did have his wife and daughter to think about. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk all of that, as well as his political career, over a piece of ass. Albeit it was a very nice ass.  
  
  
  
He agreed to meet her, but told he it would have to be short.  
  
  
  
When Shane got there to pick up Ronnie, the other detective had other plans.  
  
  
  
"Man, this is hot. We gotta tail Aceveda first."  
  
  
  
"Vic's gonna need our help with this Rossi thing," Shane reminded him.  
  
  
  
"I know, I know. But if Aceveda is doing what I think he's doing, Vic will forgive us for being a few minutes late."  
  
  
  
Ronnie explained what he'd heard "through the grapevine" about their Captain and Jenna Wade.  
  
  
  
Shane's interest was piqued. "Okay, but we got to make it quick."  
  
  
  
Ronnie brought his camera with him from the clubhouse. They saw Aceveda's city car leaving the parking lot as they got into Shane's truck.  
  
  
  
Shane tailed the Captain with practiced experience, staying just far enough back so that Aceveda wouldn't catch on.  
  
  
  
"So you really think he's ballin' that IAD chick?" Shane asked Ronnie.  
  
  
  
Gardocki shrugged. "Who cares? As long as we can get something on him that makes it look that way…well, he can just back off of Vic."  
  
  
  
Shane nodded in agreement. He watched Aceveda's car park in the lot of Tattorria, an Italian restaurant. He parked up the street, offering a good view through the side window of the place.  
  
  
  
Ronnie put on a long distance lens on his camera.  
  
  
  
"I can pick out the asshole on a gnat with this thing," he boasted.  
  
  
  
"Just concentrate on *that* asshole," Shane reminded him. He was anticipating a call from Vic any minute and knew they'd have to get to where he was in a hurry.  
  
  
  
Ronnie peered the camera through the open side window and looked through the viewfinder, picking up the interior of the Italian place through the window as if it were right in front of him. He spotted Aceveda walking to a table, where Jenna Wade sat.  
  
  
  
"Bingo," Ronnie told Shane. "She's there."  
  
  
  
He started snapping the shutter, the electronic whir of the camera making the only noise inside the cab of the pickup.   
  
  
  
Aceveda kissed Jenna lightly on the cheek before sitting down. All captured on film. They talked for a few minutes. A few more snapshots. Jenna Wade reaches across the table and takes his hand. Ronnie clicked off four shots of that.  
  
  
  
"Man this is good," Ronnie said with a grin, snapping off shots of what looked like a couple of adulterers. He had always enjoyed 'playing' private detective.   
  
  
  
Shane's cell phone rang.  
  
  
  
He snapped it open. It was Vic.  
  
  
  
"We're on West Johnson. About a block up from the house Rossi's at."  
  
  
  
"We'll be right there," Shane told his partner.  
  
  
  
He started the truck. "We got to roll," He told Ronnie, who was still clicking off shots.  
  
  
  
"Wait, wait!" Ronnie said. This was gonna be the one. Aceveda was getting up to leave. Jenna wade got up too. They embraced. Kissed again. Ronnie snapped it.  
  
"Go!" he said.  
  
  
  
Shane peeled away from the curb, ignoring on coming traffic. His truck roared up the LA street.  
  
  
  
****************************************************************************  
  
  
  
Shane coasted to a stop behind the Durango. Vic and Lem had followed Fontaine and Wilson from the machine shop to this run down neighborhood, mostly welfare projects. It was mainly white and Hispanic. A place Rossi and his boys wouldn't be too conspicuous in.   
  
  
  
The house the T Top was parked in front of was about twenty years old, but looked dilapidated enough to be fifty. The windows were mostly boarded up. The paint was peeling. The yard was nothing but dirt. A ramshackle fence of rotting boards ran along the east side. The houses next to it looked almost as bad.  
  
  
  
"We got Fontaine and Wilson inside for sure," Lem briefed Shane and Ronnie. He watched through the dirty windows, where there weren't boarded up, with the binoculars. "Third guy in there. Stays away from the windows."  
  
  
  
"Got to be Cowboy," Vic affirmed.   
  
  
  
"We got a game plan?" Shane asked.  
  
  
  
"Hit them like they hit us. Hard and fast."  
  
  
  
Ronnie and Shane were already sliding their Kevlar vests over their shirts. Lem and Vic had already put theirs on.  
  
  
  
Shane opened the weapons and ammo box behind the back seat. He handed Lem his Mossberg shotgun. He checked his Glock 37, making sure to chamber a .45 caliber round into the chamber.  
  
  
  
Vic un-snapped the clasp of the holster holding his Beretta.   
  
  
  
"Ronnie, Lem, go around the back. We'll try to take them off guard. If they want to go down shooting, we'll play. But I want to try and get them alive and talking. I want to know just what the hell is going on."  
  
  
  
So, their game plan set, the four cops moved out, taking different routes hoping not to get spotted by those inside the house.  
  
  
  
Vic and Shane moved on the front of the house, using cars, shrubbery and trash dumpsters for cover. Vic gave Lem and Ronnie time to get around to the back of the house and pick their targeted point of entry.   
  
  
  
He keyed his mike; having tuned the police issue radio to a private channel only the other three detectives were tuned onto.  
  
  
  
"Go," was all he said.  
  
  
  
He and Shane went to the front door, having noted that it was only a screen door that was shut, not the interior wood door.  
  
  
  
Shane saw the three occupants inside, sitting at a table in the front room. He threw open the door.  
  
  
  
"Hands in the air!" he yelled. Vic covered him.  
  
  
  
Joey Rossi, Mark Wilson and Denny Fontaine certainly seemed surprised as Vic and Shane burst through their front door, shortly followed by the sound of the back door slamming open and Lem and Ronnie entering from that side.   
  
  
  
"Well, well," Rossi said, grinning up at Vic, his hands slightly raised. "Guess you didn't take my friendly warning."  
  
"Guess not." Vic was surveying the scene, thinking that the three ex-cops were sure taking this well. They hadn't even made a move for the guns he could plainly see.  
  
  
  
The four Strike Team covered the three seated.   
  
  
  
"Reach for those guns nice and slow and drop them on the floor," Vic commanded.   
  
  
  
Rossi complied, dropping a .45 on the floor. Fontaine followed suit, Wilson doing so as well.  
  
  
  
Shane glanced at Vic out of the corner of his eye. He was having the same feeling. This was going down way to easy. It was eerie.   
  
  
  
"You got nothing on us Vic. Just three dead guys, sitting around playing cards," Rossi told him. His damn grin never faded.  
  
  
  
"Well, if you're already dead, then nobody will miss you when I put a bullet in your head," Vic growled.   
  
  
  
"Oh, somebody might. Somebody who right at this minute is putting documents at each of your homes tying you all into that nasty scandal down at Farmington. It kinda reads like that piece a while back at Rampart: dirty cops buying illegal weapons, stealing evidence, killing other cops. Ugly stuff."  
  
  
  
Vic and Shane exchanged quick glances.   
  
  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
  
  
"You take us down, you are going down with us," Rossi explained. "You really didn't get that I was giving you a friendly warning. I told you this was big. I did that on my own. Out of loyalty Vic. To what we are. Brothers. But now it's gone too far. Gotten out of my hands," he shrugged.   
  
  
  
"What the hell are you talking about asshole?" Lem demanded to know, training his shotgun on Cowboy's Stetson hat.  
  
  
  
"It's like this boys. You take us in, there's IAD at your homes, finding documents proving that you four are buying illegal automatic weapons using different officer's identities. To finance your little arsenal, you've been stealing guns from the evidence lock up, guns that were supposed to be destroyed, and selling them back to the street. It'll look pretty unfavorable on the LAPD and Farmington Division especially. Then there's the little matter of all the drugs that will be strategically found in your belonging. Could it be you're still hooked up with the drug trade, making a little extra money on the side?"  
  
The four members of the Strike Team exchanged looks. Their faces read a mixture of anger and, possibly fear. If what Cowboy was saying was true, not only did he have them for crimes they hadn't committed, but crimes that they had as well. Either way, with all that evidence, no one was going to care.  
  
  
  
"So say this little theatrical spiel of yours is true," Vic said. "What is it you want from us?"  
  
  
  
"Simple actually. Leave. Let it go. Like I asked you before. Back off an let us do what we do."  
  
  
  
"And let you keep on putting weapons on the street, buy illegal shit and then sell it to fuckin' Saddam or whoever the hell you're hooked up with?" Shane spat.  
  
  
  
Cowboy nodded. "Exactly. I told you before. It goes too deep for the four of you to even make a dent in. So you might as well go about your happy little lives, make a drug bust or something."  
  
  
  
Vic felt a bead of sweat trickle between his shoulder blades. His Beretta was still trained on Rossi. His mind reeled with what he'd just been told. This was bad. Very bad. And he'd been set up. Betrayed. And one face flashed through his mind: Vasquez.   
  
  
  
Slowly, Vic lowered his weapon, nodding to his team to do the same.  
  
  
  
Obviously, the frontal assault hadn't worked. Now he had to think of a way to get his team out of the fire. 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four  
  
  
  
Sergeant Pete Sinclair was leaving for the day from his duty at the evidence warehouse. It was a crap job for the PD and one he wasn't happy to be relegated to. Except for the fact that he got a large cut of the profit Joey and his team made for Pete's contribution to their arsenals, the job would be worthless. He missed being a street cop. But Joey promised him if he kept up business as usual for another six months, they'd all be on easy street. So needless to say, when Pete found himself surrounded by five cops when he got to his car, he felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
  
  
"Look Sinclair," Aceveda was telling the Sergeant, now in an interrogation room at the Barn. "You're all going down. Hard. I'm just trying to cut you a little slack, make things a little easier for you."  
  
Sinclair had been there almost an hour and his shirt was drenched with sweat.  
  
"You know what they do to cops in prison?" Mackey asked with a leer.  
  
"I can make a lot of it all go away," Aceveda promised the sergeant. "All you have to do is play ball with us."  
  
"Or don't. And we'll tell Rossi you did anyway. He'll kill you himself before anyone else has a chance at you."  
  
  
  
Sinclair's eyes darted from Aceveda to Mackey, back and forth.   
  
  
  
"All right, all right," he gave in with a sigh.  
  
Sinclair gave them enough information to bust Rossi and his team red handed. A Mexican buyer was flying in that night to look at some of Rossi's 'merchandise'.   
  
  
  
"We're going to be cutting it close," Mackey said, reviewing the plan, then glancing at his watch. The deal was supposed to go down at eleven. It was already nine.   
  
  
  
"We've got to get into position at that airport."  
  
  
  
"I've got 15 officers on standby." Aceveda nodded. "Lets move."  
  
It was a small airstrip outside of LA. There were several hangars and outbuildings in which the officers could conceal themselves. Mackey and his team set up in the main hangar, a large Quonset hut-type building.   
  
  
  
It was a quarter until eleven when they spotted the T top making it's way to the hangar. At the same time, the small plane carrying the potential arms buyer touched down on one of the runways.  
  
  
  
"Get ready," Mackey advised over the radio. "No body move until I say."  
  
  
  
The plane coasted to a stop not far from the hanger. The Trans Am pulled up in front as well.   
  
  
  
Aceveda looked on with infrared binoculars from one of the nearby buildings.   
  
  
  
Rossi, Fontaine and Wilson got out of the car, waiting beside it for the occupants of the plane.  
  
  
  
Three men got out of the GulfStream. They approached the car.  
  
  
  
There were brief greetings exchanged and some small talk, and then Rossi popped the trunk. He took out a Mac 10 semi automatic pistol and an AR 15 rifle to show his 'customers'.   
  
  
  
The Mexican looked over the guns, nodding his approval. They talked for another few minutes, and one of the other men brought up a suitcase. He handed it over to Rossi. A deposit on their order.  
  
  
  
Cowboy handed the case to Fontaine, who opened it up. Mackey could clearly see the money inside.  
  
  
  
"Go!" he ordered.  
  
  
  
From various strategic positions, the Strike Team, and the LAPD uniforms moved on the men.  
  
  
  
"LAPD! Drop the weapons and let me see some hands!" Mackey yelled, running toward the dealers, covered by Shane and Lem.  
  
  
  
"Manos arriba!" he yelled telling the Mexicans to put their hands up.  
  
  
  
Rossi stared, definitely surprised to see cops coming at him from everywhere.  
  
  
  
Fontaine and Wilson tossed their guns on the ground. They placed their hands on top of their heads. They clearly saw they were outnumbered and there was no need to try and pretend otherwise.  
  
  
  
The three Mexican men too threw down weapons and assumed the position.  
  
  
  
Rossi was the only one who did not move. Instead he grinned at Vic. The Mac 10 was near his hand on the trunk of the car.  
  
  
  
Mackey took a shooting stance behind an airplane engine that was in for repair. Lem and Shane covered him from opposite sides of the building. Ronnie was in an upper window of the hanger with a rifle, prepared to take out anyone who didn't want to cooperate.  
  
  
  
Aceveda and his detail of LAPD officers in squad cars had begun moving in from the outbuildings.  
  
  
  
Rossi looked at Vic.  
  
  
  
"Get on the ground, face down!" Lem ordered the men.  
  
  
  
Wilson and Fontaine complied. The Mexican men followed suit.  
  
  
  
Only Rossi's position remained unchanged.  
  
  
  
"Look around Cowboy. You're not getting out!" Vic told him.  
  
  
  
"I never thought it'd go down like this Vic," Rossi yelled, the grin never leaving his face. "We were friends man!"  
  
  
  
"Don't do it Joey!" Vic advised again, seeing Rossi's eyes jump to the pistol again.  
  
  
  
"Sorry man. I'm dead already." He grabbed for the gun.  
  
  
  
Shots rang out.   
  
  
  
Rossi managed to get his finger on the trigger as he attempted to roll behind the car for cover. The semi, converted to full auto, fired a rapid volley of shots, most wildly hitting the pavement and the car.  
  
  
  
Before he even made it to the ground, Rossi was hit several times. Once from Ronnie's high-powered rifle; at least once from Vic's Beretta.  
  
  
  
  
  
The rest of the players in the arms deal were taken into custody on a number of charges. Cowboy Rossi was taken away by the coroner, dead enough this time.   
  
  
  
Media, who had been conveniently alerted to the situation 'somehow', were beginning to arrive. Aceveda played star for the cameras.   
  
  
  
Mackey had holstered his gun. He stared at the T-top, now scarred by bullet holes. The red and blue flashing lights cast an eerie glow on the black car.  
  
  
  
Shane walked up to his partner. "You okay?"  
  
  
  
Vic nodded slowly. He considered just how easy it must have been for Rossi and his guys to get caught up in the action, and the money. "Don't ever let it get this far."  
  
  
  
Shane wondered if Vic really meant that it could have almost as easily been them on the receiving side of this. Did he really think they were as far over the line as Rossi? Were they?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Lt Jesse Vasquez was not prepared for what happened when he opened his front door to leave for work just before eight in the morning.  
  
  
  
There was a herd of news media on his lawn. Cameras were stuck in   
  
his face and microphones thrust toward him.  
  
"Is it true you're involved in the cover up of several LAPD officer's deaths?"  
  
"Lt any comment on the arms selling charges?"  
  
"Did you spearhead the sale of illegal guns by LAPD cops?"  
  
  
  
Vasquez was bombarded by the reporter's questions.   
  
  
  
A man in a suit pushed past the reporters. Captain David Aceveda.  
  
  
  
"Lt Vasquez, I have a warrant to search the premises." Four uniformed officers followed him.  
  
  
  
Vasquez gave Aceveda a heated look, but quickly retreated back   
  
into his house, followed by the Captain and the officers.   
  
Vic Mackey was content to watch the arrest unfold on television. He   
  
didn't have any desire to come face to face with Jesse. He didn't   
  
know what it was inside him that refused to confront his old friend.   
  
Maybe it was because deep down inside he knew. He knew how hard   
  
it was to walk on the tightrope. One slip…he'd already made a slip.   
  
He couldn't ever let it happen again. He'd be where Jesse was.  
  
  
  
No, he had to admit to himself. He could never be where Jesse   
  
Vasquez was. Vic knew, if it ever came down to it, he'd be where   
  
Cowboy Rossi was.   
  
  
  
Vic drank some more coffee and tried not to think about that.   
  
FIN 


End file.
